


Drunken conversation

by Taisin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taisin/pseuds/Taisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has done something that changed everything. Zevran would make her drink in celebration - and consolation. Sort of. <br/>Small AU for DA2 ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken conversation

"...I've just... I've. He is dead. He."

They are drinking in The Hanged Man. They are supposed to celebrate - that's the excuse this elf gave to her friends, when he extracted her from the mess produced by Meredith-plus-Idol. From historical statues lying broken in the courtyard, blood, pieces of mages, templars and Orsino. …Strange, Orsino was so tiny - and became such a huge monster. She actually liked him. Before monster. Why did he decide to go mad too? Betany will cry...

She have said this aloud?

"Yes, my dear, you did. It's of no matter, my lovely, newly appointed Vice-count, nobody hears us. Right now, no one will remark even if you dance naked on the table. Pity for them, and all the goodness for me."

The Hanged Man is full to bursting, the noise so loud it's fit to be cut with a knife. They are sitting in the corner, and it feels private. It feels isolated from the world. The elf before her is smiling. It irritates her.

"You... stop smiling like that. Like you know. Like you know why."

"I know why," the elf smiles wider. "This Orsino decided you would lose. Tck. Should have known better. People like you don't lose."

"No. Not... that."

She inhales the last of her beer, puts the mug down. Blinks, and the mug is full again.

"Ugh?"

"Tavern magic, my dear. Enjoy while it lasts."

"Ah." She stares at her beer warily. Magic. So it may disappear. Or transform into a demon. Can there be a demon of beer? from beer?

"Beer is a demon enough by itself," chuckles the elf. "Do you feel possessed?"

"A... bit. In a good way."

"Good."

"Stop... smiling."

"But I know," smiles the elf. "I can smile. Because I know why."

"He... why doesn't it feel like I won? Elthina, she..."

"Remarkable woman, the Grand Cleric."

"Yes..."

"Saved everyone sane."

"...Yes."

"And you hate her."

She stares at him. And he smiles. Like he knows.

"Because you saved her life."

He does.

"...yes."

"This mage you've been with, your lover, so vocal about the freedom for the mages - wasn't here today."

He really does. One glance, one stupid flirt, one bunch of Crows and one set of insane everyone killed together, and he does.

It feels... liberating. No-one else knows. No-one of her best friends. Not even the wise and I've-seen-or-written-about-it-all Varric.

"I... He. Sela Petrae and Drakestone. He wanted."

"Ah. Boom, yes?"

And she laughs, silly, into her beer, and coughs. The beer splatter is all over the table, and on the elf, and on her face too - her face feels wet.

"Boom," she agrees. "Yes."

"He drank wine, am I right?"

She blinks. Nods.

"Crow poison variant, I presume, then. Time delayed, painless, but the acidity is high in all of them."

She shudders. Clenches her mug. And nods. Once. Twice. Drinks her beer. Coughs again.

"I don't know. Not even... not where... Just... no boom."

"I'll ask around."

"Why?"

He smiles. His face is young - and then it's old - and then young again.

"Stop changing," she says. "Stop. Stop smiling, like you know."

"I do," he says, "I do. At least he has really betrayed you, or tried to. At least you were right."

"You... wasn't?"

"No."

"Ah." She looks at him - he is old again - and asks, because she just got that idea right now, and can't stop thinking about it, it's like a demon voice in the back of her head:

"You didn't try to kill yourself. Why?"

"I did."

"You... did?"

"Like you did. Exactly like you did."

"I..."

She didn't, not really, she didn't even think about it in such words, she just wanted everything to stop - and the quietest place in battle was near Meredith-plus-Idol. There was no time to think there. And then -she won.

"I lost," he continues, "but I was spared."

"And then? then - why?"

"There was a Blight," he says. "A very big dragon we had to kill. A big work to do. It takes the demons from you. For a time."

"... Dragon," she laughs. "You know, we killed a High Dragon, just before. Last dragon he killed. He... You smile again."

"I can. I know."

Dots connect in her beer possessed mind.

"...The hero of Ferelden. She spared you. She - killed the Archdemon."

"So many capital letters," he sighs. "She was like you. Fire, steel and wit. Liked beer. Liked sex."

"Liked you."

"So she has said."

He is looking into his beer, and she remembers flirting with him, and how he turned her - and Isabella! - down. Six years passed since the Blight.

"You know," she marvels. "You. All of it. How... how?"

She doesn't even know what she is asking about, only that the doesn't know the how of being in the world without Him. And this one - he had six years to learn.

"Like you breathe, one breath at the time. You find a dragon to kill, and you kill it. Bit by bit. And then you find another."

"No dragons," she says. "All gone. Poor dragons."

"Kirkwall is a big city," he smiles, young now. "Surely you will find a dragon big enough, Your Highness the Vice-count?"

"Ah. Yes. A big... dragon, this city."

"Indeed."

"You know," she says. "You know all. Will it? ever?"

"This, I can't tell," he says. "Never did for me."

Ah. Well. She'll ask Varric then. Tomorrow. And she will believe whatever lies he will say.

And then - then she will find her next dragon to kill.


End file.
